Hush, Hush #1 by Becca Fitzpatrick

the box.
    “Let me guess … cinnamon is a fruit?” I pushed the box away.
    “You didn’t eat lunch, either,” Vee said, frowning.
    “I’m not hungry.”
    “Liar. You’re always hungry. Is this about Patch? You’re not worried he’s really stalking you, are you? Because last night, that whole thing at the library, I was joking.”
    I massaged small circles into my temples. The dull ache that had taken up residence behind my eyes flared at the mention of Patch. “Patch is the least of my worries,” I said. It wasn’t exactly true.
    “My seat, if you don’t mind.”
    Vee and I looked up simultaneously at the sound of Patch’s voice.
    He sounded pleasant enough, but he kept his eyes trained on Vee as she 62
    rose and slung her backpack over her shoulder. It appeared she couldn’t move fast enough; he swept his arm toward the aisle, inviting her out of his way.
    “Looking good as always,” he said to me, taking his chair. He leaned back in it, stretching his legs out in front of him. I’d known all along he was tall, but I’d never put a measurement to it. Looking at the length of his legs now, I guessed him to top out at six feet. Maybe even six-one.
    “Thank you,” I answered without thinking. Immediately I wanted to take it back. Thank you ? Of all the things I could have said, “thank you” was the worst. I didn’t want Patch thinking I liked his compliments. Because I didn’t … for the most part. It didn’t take much perception to realize he was trouble, and I had enough trouble in my life already. No need to invite more. Maybe if I ignored him, he’d eventually give up initiating conversation. And then we could sit side by side in silent harmony, like every other partnership in the room.
    “You smell good too,” said Patch.
    “It’s called a shower.” I was staring straight ahead. When he didn’t answer, I turned sideways. “Soap. Shampoo. Hot water.”
    “Naked. I know the drill.”
    I opened my mouth to change the subject when the bell cut me off.
    “Put your textbooks away,” Coach said from behind his desk. “I’m handing out a practice quiz to get you warmed up for this Friday’s real one.” He stopped in front of me, licking his finger as he tried to separate the quizzes. “I want fifteen minutes of silence while you answer the questions. Then we’ll discuss chapter seven. Good luck.”
    I worked through the first several questions, answering them with a 63
    rhythmic outpouring of memorized facts. If nothing else, the quiz stole my concentration, pushing last night’s accident and the voice at the back of my mind questioning my sanity to the sidelines. Pausing to shake a cramp out of my writing hand, I felt Patch lean toward me.
    “You look tired. Rough night?” he whispered.
    “I saw you at the library.” I was careful to keep my pencil gliding over my quiz, seemingly hard at work.
    “The highlight of my night.”
    “Were you following me?”
    He tipped his head back and laughed softly.
    I tried a new angle. “What were you doing there?”
    “Getting a book.”
    I felt Coach’s eyes on me and dedicated myself to my quiz. After answering several more questions, I stole a glimpse to my left. I was surprised to find Patch already watching me. He grinned.
    My heart did an unexpected flip, startled by his bizarrely attractive smile. To my horror, I was so taken aback, I dropped my pencil. It bounced on the tabletop a few times before rolling over the edge. Patch bent to pick it up. He held it out in the palm of his hand, and I had to focus not to touch his skin as I took it back.
    “After the library,” I whispered, “where did you go?”
    “Why?”

    64
    “Did you follow me?” I demanded in an undertone.
    “You look a little on edge, Nora. What happened?” His eyebrows lifted in concern. It was all for show, because there was a taunting spark at the center of his black eyes.
    “ Are you following me?”
    “Why would I want to follow you?”
    “Answer the